Poems by William Henry Drummond

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My thoughts hold mortal strife;
In dreams of the night I hear the call
O I'm very very tire Marie,
He's alway ketchin' doré, an'he 's alway ketchin' trout
New doth the sun appear,
O memory, take my hand to-day
Go 'way, go 'way, don't ring no more, ole bell of Saint Michel,
You 'member de ole log-camp, Johnnie, up on de Cheval Gris,
De place I get born, me, is up on de reever
You can pass on de worl' w'erever you lak,
M'sieu Paul Joulin, de Notaire Publique
AN INCIDENT OF THE CANADIAN REBELLION OF 1837.
O leetle bird dat's come to us w'en stormy win' she's blowin',
Dat's very cole an' stormy night on Village St. Mathieu,
DONAL' CAMPBELL
Doth then the world go thus? doth all thus move?
Bord á Plouffe, Bord á Plouffe,
The beauty and the life
W'en I was young boy on de farm, dat 's twenty year ago
My thoughts hold mortal strife;
Phoebus, arise!
Johnnie Courteau of de mountain
De cloud is hide de moon, but dere's plain-tee light above,
Venez ici, mon cher ami, an' sit down by me—so
Leetle Lac Grenier, she 's all alone,
YOU bad leetle boy, not moche you care
Get along leetle mouse, kick de snow up behin' you
THE ADVENTURES OF AN ENGLISHMAN IN THE CANADIAN WOODS.
I've told you many a tale, my child, of the old heroic days
Like the Idalian queen,
Dis was de story of boy an' girl
Victoriaw: she have beeg war, E-gyp's de nam' de place,
O spirit of the mountain that speaks to us to-night,
I'm poor man, me, but I buy las' May
Mon frere Camille he was first class blood
I'm sittin' to-night on maleetle ca-bane, more happier dan de king,
Oor fader lef' ole France behin', dat's many year ago,
Ole Docteur Fiset of Saint Anicet,
I lak on summer ev'ning, w'en nice cool win' is blowin'
Pelang! Pelang! Mon cher garçon,
A STORY OF THE "CHASSE GALLERIE."
O Ma ole canoe! w'at's matter wit' you, an' w'y was you be so slow?
A TALE OF THE SAINT MAURICE.
The last and greatest Herald of Heaven’s King,
That zephyr every year
Sweet Spring, thou turn’st with all thy goodly train,
Alexis, here she stay’d; among these pines,
O I was thine, and thou wert mine, and ours the boundless plain,
Phoebus, arise!
I s'pose mos'ev'ry body t'ink hees job's about de hardes'
Mos' ev'ryman lak de robin
De corduroy road go bompety bomp,
Dere's no voyageur on de reever never run hees canoe d'ecorce
Here's to you, Uncle Kruger! slainté! an' slainté galore.
To the hut of the peasant, or lordly hall,
I read on de paper mos' ev'ry day, all about Jubilee
O, who can blame de winter, never min' de hard he 's blowin'
I ought to feel more satisfy an' happy dan I be,
Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas',
Is it only twelve mont' I play de fool,
"Listen my child," said the old pine tree, to the little one nestling near,
I know very well t'was purty hard case
W'at's all dem bell a ringin' for, a can hear dem ev'ry w'ere?
De win' is sleepin' in de pine, but O! de night is black!
You can sew heem up in a canvas sack,
Go easy wit' de paddle, an' steady wit' de oar
On wan dark night on Lac St. Pierre,
This Life, which seems so fair,
My lute, be as thou wert when thou didst grow
Sweet bird, that sing'st away the early hours
Two honder year ago, de worl' is purty slow
Was workin' away on de farm dere, wan morning not long ago,

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